


Hold Your Tongue & Keep Your Word

by seventyfivesheep



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe --Yakuza Makoto, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smoking, all characters are at least in their mid-twenties, cw for harassment and implied attempted assault, it is brief but it's there, makoto/ann is the primary ship, there are fist fights and violence what have you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventyfivesheep/pseuds/seventyfivesheep
Summary: As fresh blood with an old name, Niijima Makoto has to climb to the top of the family to get what she wants.She doesn't expect a one-off trip to a hostess club to make that climb much harder.





	1. Chapter 1

“It’s not like you to shy away from a challenge, Niijima.”

The dull street sign barely attracts attention, hidden as it is. Tucked away on the side of an alley of  Kamurocho , far enough in that no foreigners dare to visit and locals know well enough to avoid. 

“I would hardly consider this a challenge…” 

“Well, it is now.” The older man pushes her forward, practically into the doorway, and she barely has time to right herself before crashing face first into it. “I’m challenging you. Go talk to pretty women. It’ll help lower your stress level.” 

Makoto stops herself the instant she feels her head turn. Not worth it to get into a fight over something so petty, after all.

No need to snap an olive branch being offered, either. Not when she’s spent so long just getting a chance to climb the tree.

She readjusts the collar of her shirt under her suit jacket, straightens her tie, and heads inside. 

The interior is surprisingly well decorated in comparison to the facade outside, though the clientele probably has a bit to do with that. Best to keep things inconspicuous on the outside. Even with the well put-together aesthetic, the air is stale with the scent of extinguished cigarettes and spilled alcohol. 

“Welcome, master!” An older, energetic woman in a very obvious wig bows at them. “Ah, Masuda-sama, and--” 

Her gaze turns to Makoto, and the corner of her plastered-on smile wavers a bit, “--And a friend.”

“Family member. Not friend. You don’t need to worry about her, Becky-san. She’s totally harmless, even though she looks like she’d snap your neck at any moment.” 

That prompts some chuckles from the group of men behind them, and thankfully Makoto’s ability to maintain composure has improved in the years since she joined the family proper. It’d be a shame to watch the interior decorating of this place get completely trashed, after all.

She bows before saying, “Niijima. Nice to meet you. Please take care of me.” 

The woman snorts at the greeting, though it’s mostly covered by the men, who stir up a whole new series of laughter. 

“Well, then. Follow me, everyone. I’ll show you each to a private seat, and someone will be over shortly.” 

Makoto falls into line with the snickers and jeers, and wonders just how many hours her peers usually stay here and if she can really manage to just make small talk with a stranger for the rest of the night.

Eventually, they all branch off and go different directions, aside from Makoto. She has a sinking feeling that she’ll be headed somewhere different, because Masuda seemed just a bit too enthusiastic about the whole thing for it to be an ordinary night out.

As she follows the staff member tasked with bringing her where she needs to be, she manages to sneak in a few glimpse at the other tables-- they each seem to be lively with conversation, laughter, and drinks. The only exception is a booth that faces towards the back of the establishment, high walls behind it so no other patrons can peek into or around the corner without being obvious.

Which is of course, the one she’s led to. 

It proves her observations correct, at least-- no one bothers her while she waits for… whatever. She isn’t entirely sure what to even expect at this point. Five, ten minutes pass and she’s still alone. If Masuda’s idea of a prank is giving her a few hours of alone time, things could be much worse.

No sooner does she think that than a girl rounds the corner, a platter with glasses and bottles in hand. 

“I’m terribly sorry for the delay,” She manages a half-bow, and Makoto can’t help but notice her wince when she stands straight, “Can I get you something to drink?” 

Makoto isn’t very familiar with standard hostess club procedure, but there are some things that must coincide with real life etiquette, and she smiles before she says “Shouldn’t I introduce myself first?”

“Um,” The girl’s shoulders stiffen, the platter in hand tipping a little off balance, “I-If you want, but I’m…” 

The girl is cute, long black hair pulled back in a bun, eyes wide. Like she’s not used to getting complimented, which seems… odd for someone who works in a hostess club. Makoto’s about to ask if she needs something, a drink of water or to sit for a minute, but the moment she does, the girl speaks again, “I’m not your hostess. I apologize, your- friends, they lined something else up.” 

Makoto slumps back in her seat. Figures. Whatever else they lined up is taking far too long, though.

She sighs, “In that case, I’ll have whiskey. On the rocks.” 

The girl nods, pouring it without spilling a drop, and Makoto takes a drink the second it’s handed to her. The instant the burn hits her tongue, a beautiful young woman in red rounds the corner into the booth. 

“Sorry I’m late! I hope you didn’t have too much fun without me.” Her smile lights up the darkened corner of the club, and the glass nearly slips from Makoto’s hand. 

* * *

“I don’t see you around here very often. Are you new?” 

The woman, Ann-chan as she introduces herself, the name spelled out in curly-cue writing on the business card she hands Makoto, is sitting entirely too close, the scent of her perfume making Makoto’s head spin. 

“You could say that.” She responds, only then realizing that Ann’s talking about the club and not the group she came in with, “I- I don’t typically spend my evenings this way.” 

“Well, what do you do then?” Ann’s smile is far more believable than Becky’s, but that doesn’t mean it’s any more real. Even if she looks good doing it, it’s still acting, Makoto reminds herself. 

“Rest is important.” She mumbles into her drink before taking a sip.

“Awh, come on, you have to do  _ something, _ ” Ann leans in, resting her hand against the top of Makoto’s thigh, “You can’t waste that beautiful face of yours by staying inside all the time!” 

Her face fires at the comment, like she’s just finished cleaning out some delinquents in a brawl, except there’s no threats here and she’s being  _ completely _ ridiculous, Ann is paid to do this, and it’s not like she hasn’t ever been flirted with before. She really needs to stop thinking about it, so she coughs and says “I- I thought these places had protocol in place against touching.” 

Ann reclines back against the booth seat, but doesn’t move her hand, “Well, there is, but that’s more for the customers than the hosts. Why, do you not like it?”

“I… don’t hate it.” Makoto takes a large swig of her drink immediately after the words leave her lips. 

Ann giggles, and closes the distance between them again, “You’re so cute, you know? I’ve never known a criminal who's so concerned about rules.” 

Makoto’s instinctive jerk backwards causes a bit of whisky and water to splash onto her suit pants, “C-criminal?”

“I mean, you came in here with a group of old guys in suits. If you were trying to keep it secret, you’re doing a pretty bad job.” Ann sighs, “Besides, who do you think usually comes here?” 

“I suppose…” The silence that follows that question is quickly filled with laughter from whatever booth is behind them. It’s the first time that Makoto has really gotten a chance to absorb the surroundings-- she doesn’t know much about hostess clubs, or at least,  _ proper _ hostess clubs. Lord knows she’s spent time at places where the rules of behavior are more… lax. 

Ann stares at her, and she realizes she’s been sitting awkwardly quiet for too long and asks, “So, why did you happen to be so late?” 

“Awh, did you miss me?” Ann makes a kissy face at her, one Makoto doesn’t return and Ann slinks against the booth, “Usually I’m only available on appointment, but we moved some thing’s around because I was told we were getting a ‘special’ client, so it was a last second change and I had to rush. It’s rude to rush a girl, you know?”

“Sorry.” Makoto mumbles. 

She drinks instead of thinking about what the special comment is supposed to mean.

“Well-- they said you were special. Are you? Tell me more about you, cutie!”

And she just manages to get the drink down before Ann asks that. “There’s nothing to tell.” 

Ann groans, and scoots a little to put space between them. “Ugh, why did you even bother showing up? If you don’t buy the act, what’s the point?” 

“The act is bad.”

“It is  _ not.  _ You don’t become the most requested hostess in this district if you’re bad.” 

“Hm.” Makoto stares at her drink, and then, polishes it off so she can look at the bottom of the glass proper, “Maybe they just have lower standards here.” 

“You’re a real charmer, you know? This is some joke to play on--”

“Ann-chan!”

A voice comes from around the corner, and with it, a body curling around the edge of the booth, entirely too close and reeking of expensive and overbearing cologne. 

In an instant, Ann is next to her, with a hand curling down her thigh and before Makoto even has a chance to ask about that, Ann says, “Kamoshida! We don’t have anything scheduled for tonight--” 

“No, we don’t, because you keep cancelling our appointments. Suddenly too busy for me, Ann-chan?” The man--Kamoshida-- asks, leaning over the table and apparently disregarding Makoto all together.

“I’m a very busy woman.” 

“So busy that you can’t even make time for me? How do you think you’ve gotten so much business, anyway? On your talents?” His breath reeks of booze, and the combination of scents would be nauseating if Makoto didn’t already have a tolerance.

“I’m-- in the middle of something here.” Ann leans over, and the next thing Makoto knows is there are lips against her cheek and Ann says, “With the  _ very  _ talented and special Makoto kun. So if you don’t mind, you’ll just have to call me another time, okay?”

Kamoshida scoffs, and doesn’t flinch or move an inch as he says, “You’re acting skills are as shitty as ever. Why don’t you ditch the bitch and spend time with a  _ real  _ man?”   


She’s heard enough. Everything about this man seems seedy, but she would’ve stayed invested in her own business if he hadn’t brought personal attacks to the forefront. “I think you had better tread carefully on insulting the patrons around here, sir.”

His gaze moves onto Makoto, “Oh yeah? Do you know who I am? Without me, this place wouldn’t even be here. Ungrateful… you should be thanking me. I’m the only reason lowlifes like you ever get a taste of women. ”

She stands, and stares him directly in the eyes as she says “I couldn’t care less about who you are. But I can guarantee you that I’m packing enough heat to put you in your place.” 

Kamoshida laughs, and standing straight up, easily towers over Makoto. “I’d like to see you try. But I have shit to do.” 

He looks back down at Ann, and Makoto feels a hand slip against her own, and squeezes it, trying to make it look convincing. “I’ll be back for you. You better free up some time on your schedule. Then again, it doesn’t matter if you don’t.”

His footsteps replace any explanation, and Makoto remains standing and tense until a tug on her arm brings her back to earth and she sinks back down to the seat. 

“Sorry about that.” Ann says with a small laugh that comes off more as nervous than anything else.

And she’s still sitting close to Makoto, closer than she’d regularly enjoy, but for now it seems… fine. Nice, even. “Frequent customer?”

“Unfortunately.” Ann picks up a glass of wine from the table, and swirls the contents, not daring a sip, “But enough about him-- what was that about packing heat?”

Makoto flexes instinctively as Ann runs a hand up her bicep, and she winks, and all Makoto can say is “I thought we were done with the act.” 

“Who said I’m acting?” 

She barely has time to process the static buzz that fills her ears before a familiar voice rounds the corner, “Niijima! Look at you!” 

Masuda stares her down, followed by a trail of other men, and Makoto has just enough sense to compose herself before she huffs and says, “Some sort of prank you pulled.”

“No pranks here! I see you’re gettin’  _ acquainted  _ with the beautiful Ms. Ann-chan. Is that right?” 

Like it was never gone, Ann’s facade is rebuilt in front of Makoto’s eyes-- it’s like the start of night between them all over again, “Mmhm, Makoto kun may act all tough, but really, she’s a big sweetheart.” 

That sets off a round of laughter in the group, and Makoto can only take the indignity of it all for so long before she stands, feels Ann’s hands fall off her. “You’ve had your fun. I guess this trip served its purpose. Let’s go.”

“Awh, c’mon man! Live a little!” Masuda pats her on the shoulder, and she quickly shrugs him off. “Christ, alright. No need to get upset-- why be drunk and upset when you could be drunk and happy?”

“I’m not drunk.” Makoto doesn’t turn around to face him as she passes through the group, and only just catches a voice calling out from behind her. 

“Call me, Mako-chan! You’ll do it, right?” 

Ann’s voice is quickly overshadowed by another chorus of laughter, which is quickly shut out by the front door opening and closing, and the noise of traffic and passerbys replacing it. 

_ Clear your head _ , Makoto reminds herself repeatedly,  _ You have to breath.  _

She walks down a small side street, quieter than the main drag and even the alley the club’s on as she pulls a small, flimsy package from her pant pocket, bringing a cigarette to her lips and lighting it. 

Double checking each way, she makes sure no one is around to see her before she leans against the back wall of building, lets the smoke curl out of her lips.

She gets only a minute of peace before her phone dings. 

**9:51 PM**

**From: Masuda:**

Lighten up. Seriously. If you don’t, you’ll die from stress. 

Makoto rolls her eyes, pulls the cigarette back to her mouth as her phone dings again. 

**9:52 PM**

**From: True Queen:**   
The store is slow. Are you going to be joining me tonight? 

“Lighten up, huh.” Makoto says to herself, and puts the cigarette out against the plaster behind her with a smirk. 

Lighten up? That, she can do. 

**9:53 PM**

**To: True Queen:**

Absolutely. Will be there in a bit. 

* * *

 

“I think this is the easiest way for you to keep quiet, isn’t it?”

Makoto can’t respond. Not that she would respond, anyway. 

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?’

Even if she can’t see her face, Makoto can hear the smile in the woman’s words, works her tongue against her more, until she feels thighs tighten around her head, pulling her in, and that smile shifts into swear words and proclamations to a higher deity. 

Makoto keeps working against the woman until hands yank her hair backwards, forcing her away and into the air. 

“Something must have been bothering you.” She says it among heavy breaths, and Makoto licks her lips before responding. 

“Don’t worry about it.” She stands, flattening then lapels of her jacket as the door to the supply closet rattles, and they both fall silent.

“Hifumi-chan? Are you in there?” The voice belongs to a timid younger woman-- undoubtedly one of the servers-- and Hifumi calmly hops off of the spare table, flattens her skirt, and fixes her bangs so they fall perfectly against her face. 

“Be a good girl. And visit more often.” She makes it a point by grabbing Makoto’s collar and kissing her deeply before another round of knocking kicks off.   


Hifumi opens the door, and Makoto catches a glimpse of the server, red-faced and wide eyed, scrambling out of the way before it creaks shut again. She gives herself a moment to breath and make sure her collar is adjusted and double check that there’s nothing obvious on her lips or chin before filing out herself. 

Thankfully, none of the staff bats an eye, at least, not until she saddles up to the bar. She doesn’t even have to place an order before the person that greets her is pouring a glass. 

“You need to kick that habit. You’re ruining Togo’s productivity.” 

“Not true-- I’m helping her get rid of a distraction.” Makoto says as the woman slides the glass across the bartop. “You know she’d just be daydreaming if I didn’t, Sis.” 

“You’re giving yourself far too much credit.” The cool tone is a complete contrast to the burn of alcohol down Makoto’s throat, but it doesn’t keep her from downing the drink in large swigs. “What brings you out here? Nothing good, I’m assuming.” 

“Pessimist.” 

“Observant, more like.” 

“I wanted to get out of the city. Or at least out of  Kamurocho . It pays to have a change of scenery every once and a while, Sae.”

“Trading the bars for my store? I guess I should be honored.” Sae stands straight, and it’s obvious which of them inherited their father's height. Even when she’s not hunched over a bar, Makoto pales in comparison. 

Not that she’s ever let that stop her, and she isn’t about to back down now. “Store? Some store. Where’s your business permit, then? Your alcohol permit? Who do you have protecting you?” 

“Smart mouth.” Sae holds the bottle in her hand, makes no move to refill the glass Makoto has since emptied, “I don’t owe you anything, you realize. I could have you thrown out right now.” 

“You could,” She’s vaguely aware of the room shifting-- but in this place, it always seems to, with the noise of marbles against spinning boards, chips being knocked over, the heavy air filled with smoke, “But then who will keep your dealers entertained?” 

“I’m sure they can figure out something.” Sae responds, and after a small stare down, begrudgingly refills Makoto’s glass. “Go home after this. You’ve drank enough, and it’s a long trip. One of my men will drive you.”

“I’m beginning to think you don’t want me around.” She says into her glass, each syllable ripping off the drink’s surface.

“I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead or arrested.” Sae responds without pause. “Even if you deserve the latter.” 

“I knew you loved me.” Makoto smiles, and makes quick work of the rest of her glass.

* * *

With limited traffic, the car speeds from the outer edges of Tokyo into the city proper. Sae’s ‘store’, a parlor held deep underground, with traditional casino games and the front of a law firm, is mostly out of the way of the hectic nature and chaos of the city, but also out of the way from trains and other mass transit. Convenient for keeping secrets, less so for commuting. Makoto tries not to focus on the blur of buildings and lights passing by, her head already spinning. 

She doesn’t talk to the man Sae tasked with dropping her off. Doesn’t need too, and it would be too easy to talk too much like this. Besides, her mind’s a bit...preoccupied.

Something about the woman at the hostess club got under her skin, which is only a problem in that she can’t pin an exact reason why. Everything about that place was unnerving, and she would have so much rather have spent her night in an izakaya, chatting up other patreons she’d never see again, over being the constant point of ridicule for the men she’ll undoubtedly have to hear from for the foreseeable future.

There’s a pressure against her thigh, but when she looks down, there’s nothing-- a trace of a touch that was real at one point. Maybe she should have just bought into the whole experience… it had to have made for a better time than the one she had. At the very least, she wouldn’t have had to go so far out of her way to de-stress.

They’re approaching the edge of  Kamurocho  when the driver pulls up to the curb, not daring to go in further. Makoto mutters her thanks and slides him a few bills, and he pulls off the instant she shuts the door.

The tower that holds the Niijima family apartment stands tall, and Makoto can see it anywhere in this prefecture, but that doesn’t mean it’s at all close, and she starts walking. It’s the time of night that there’s still some foot traffic, but everyone she passes tends to be drunk, or keeping their head down until they get where they need to be. She can’t blame them.  Kamurocho  is a scary place at night. 

Well, for most people. 

Most steer clear of her while she walks, their shuffling footsteps mingling with a constant chorus of chatter and the clanging of glass bottles together, the sounds of sweeping, doors shutting. It’s a sort of limnal space that allows Makoto to get lost in her thoughts. 

Not a smart idea, but she’s on the family’s turf. It shouldn’t matter. 

Ann. The striking red dress, the sickly sweet smell of her. The way she faked everything-- so blatantly obvious that even Makoto could tell, but the way that portrayal switched the instant she was confronted by Kamoshida, to something just as fake but more… desperate than superficial. Something about the mix of that keeps bringing it back to the forefront of her mind. Surely, she has other things to think about, but...

Before she knows it, her feet are treading a familiar path, and she’s standing outside a inconspicuous store front with a dull sign. Without hands at her back, egging her on, though, it’s a lot harder to force herself to move. 

“Let go of me!” 

“You stupid- you really think you can run from  _ me _ , of all people?!”

Not for long— the noise comes from the smaller alleyway beside the club and her feet move before she can stop them. She’s barely turned the corner when she sees it. 

“Ugh!” A woman in a short, red dress yanks a hand away, setting her off balance on tall heels and tumbling to the ground. 

A man-- much taller, more skinny than substantial, stands over her immediately, rears back and the resulting  _ snap  _ of his palm against her face breaks Makoto of any instinct to be a bystander.

“Excuse me.” 

The man turns-- and Makoto recognizes him, “Oh, so you came back for your bitch, huh?” 

“You’re going to regret saying that.” She’s a bit tipsy— but the moment the words leave her lips, her muscles tense and she stands tall. 

“Why don’t you just stay out of this-- it’s not any of your business. I’m just claiming what’s mine.” 

Suddenly, Makoto sees a red blur come up from the ground, and Kamoshida is doubled over, grabbing his crotch as a heel slowly lowers. The woman— Ann, it has to be her, with bright blonde hair and the fiery red dress— makes a sluggish move to stand. More than anything else, she looks angry, and it’s all the confirmation Makoto need to move in. 

Her first move is fast, angling a kick right to the part of Kamoshida’s stomach that she can still see, and he tumbles backwards onto the ground. She lifts her foot, pinning him against the concrete with her heel against his temple, “You’re right-- I am back for my bitch. You.” 

Like a raging bull, he seethes, muttering expletives as he slams an elbow against her shin, hard enough to move the foot keeping him in place and set her just off balance enough to allow him enough space to scramble back to his own feet. 

He doesn’t get a chance to stay still for long; the second he’s standing, Makoto’s fist is there to greet him, the knuckles of her left hand connecting with a visceral crack against his cheek bones.

Reeling back with a yelp, he finds the wall the building on the opposite side of the alley and clings to it, shooting her a glare.

“You fucking  _ bitch. _ I won’t forget this.” 

“If you do, I’ll be more than happy to remind you.” Makoto sneers, her back rimrod straight when she speaks, her self control just barely keeping her legs from springing forward and landing a flurry of more strikes, “Get out.” 

Kamoshida shoots her another dirty look before shuffling away to the far end to the alley, a noticeable hobble in his step as he turns the corner. 

Once he’s out of her vision, she turns to Ann, extending a hand, “Are you alright?

“Yeah, I think.” Ann takes the hand, but grimaces immediately after, “Erk, maybe not.”

Even in the dimly lit alley, Makoto can make out faint dark patches around her wrist, and instead of pulling her up that way, kneels. “I can lift you. If that’s okay?” 

“It’s--” She pauses, “It’s fine. I’ll just...” 

Squirming a little, Ann turns herself around so that she’s facing Makoto, resting her hands on Makoto’s shoulders and pressing on them-- though she only moves when Makoto herself stands, gingerly putting a hand on each shoulder to keep Ann from falling over.

“Sorry. I made that harder than it needed to be.” Ann says, and tries to catch her breath, using Makoto and the wall for support. “I think I just… Need a minute.” 

She holds Makoto at arms length, which can’t possibly make it any easier but-- given what’s happened tonight, Makoto can’t blame her. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time.” 

The moment she says it, a loud  _ pop _ rings out. Just a split second of chaos, but in the relative quiet of late night Kamurocho, it stands out. 

“What the hell?” Ann asks, quiet, and another  _ pop  _ answers _ ,  _ ending as soon as it begins, leaving only the echoes that spread like whispers between walls in its wake.

“Gunshots.” Makoto says under her breath, like saying it out loud is violating a sacrament, “We need to get out of here.” 

“I can’t, um…” Ann is still clutching the wall, but Makoto extends an arm. 

“You can lean on me, if you want. Do you live near here?” 

Ann tentatively nods, and reaches out, resting against Makoto’s shoulder as she starts to move.

“Lead the way. I’ve got you.”

It’s a short walk, though they still pass a sea of questioning and judging eyes. When they finally make it to the apartment building through veins of side streets, they can barely both fit in the building’s tiny elevator.

“I’ll be alright from here.” Now that it’s just the two of them, and the whirl of the elevator, the chaos from before seems to melt away. “I can handle it.” 

“You’re hurt.” Makoto stands at the opposite side, giving as much space as she can, “I can understand if you say no, but at least let me take a look at your injuries.” 

Ann glances at the floor, then looks her up and down. “That’s- That’s fine, then. You people have a code of honor, anyway.” 

“Not really,” Makoto mutters, “but we’re only as good as our word. I promise you I won’t do anything, but you don’t have to trust a stranger.” 

Ann shrugs, and the elevator door opens, revealing an equally cramped hallway. 

“Mine’s at the end, on the left.” Makoto nods, extends an arm, but Ann tries to limp on her own there, clinging to the wall and stepping in front of Makoto only to unlock the door. 

The apartment is not impressive-- it’s a single room, a bed in one corner, a makeshift closet taking up an entire wall, a small TV atop the one counter space, next to a single burner. It’s not helped by the mess, clothes scattered everywhere, dishes here and there. There’s a small pair of doors immediately next to the entrance, and a quick glance shows a bathroom counter covered with makeup. At least the toilet room is clean. 

“I don’t suppose you have any medical supplies in here, do you?” 

“Why do you think that?” Ann is precariously hunched over, using the wall for support as she plucks her heels off. 

“Just a guess.” 

“I have some. Under the sink in the bathroom.” 

Makoto nods, slipping into the bathroom as she tries to shuffle through various toiletries while she hears Ann’s footsteps cross the room. She finally finds some bandages and a bottle of painkillers, though there’s no sort of wraps or gauze. 

When she emerges, Ann’s already changed and seated atop her bed, scrolling through her phone. 

“Can you sit on the edge, please?” Makoto asks, and when Ann complies, Makoto makes her way in front of her, pushing aside several pieces of clothing so she can kneel. 

She also makes sure to stay an arms length away, “Do you mind if I--” There’s no way to frame this without sounding creepy, at least, not as a question, “You had some trouble walking. There might be something wrong with your ankles. Will you let me look at them?” 

Slowly, tentatively, Ann raises her left foot, until Makoto is eye level with it, “I twisted it when he pushed me.”

“Ah,” Makoto had figured, but there’s no harm in looking, “Do you mind if I check…?”

She brings her hands around it, but doesn’t touch, not until Ann nods. Even then, her touch is light, only just barely making contact as she rotates it. 

“I’m going to move it, okay? Tell me when it hurts.”

She gingerly pulls the foot forward after Ann nods, and when there’s no response, pushes it back. 

Ann sucks the air in through her teeth, and she checks the box in her mental list of symptoms, “It’s probably sprained. If you can avoid walking on it for a bit, use ice and elevate it. Should hopefully be back to normal in a couple of weeks.” 

“You can know all that just by looking?” 

“I have some experience.” Makoto grabs at the supplies next to her, “Let me see your wrist. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Ann shakes her head, and slides a hand between Makoto’s. Makoto half feels like a prince, wooing a maiden. It’s been far too long since she’s read those stories, and she’s hardly anything resembling princely, now. She quickly erases the image from her mind, focusing instead on checking over the bruises, making sure there’s no deeper damage.

“You’ll just have to avoid making contact with them. They’ll heal on their own.” She says, taking some bandages in hand and patching up various scrapes and bumps down Ann’s legs, her arms. 

She tries not to look up, but she can feel Ann’s eyes on her, and she’s careful not to let her touch linger too long in one place.  Finishing up with what wounds she can see, she quickly stands up and returns everything to its proper place in the bathroom. 

“Will you be safe here?” She asks when she steps back into the main room. This time, she stays in the doorway. 

“I always am.” Ann replies, “I don’t think I can stay off of this foot, though…”

“Call into work tomorrow. You won’t be comfortable working in pain.” Not to mention everything else that could happen. The thought of it is enough to make Makoto’s blood boil, but there’s little she can do aside from staying at the club. Still, she has to do something.  “If he-- If he comes back, call me.” 

“What?” 

Makoto pulls a business card from her breast pocket. The information on it is nothing but a front, a false name and a dead end number and the address of an old office in Shibuya, but she takes a pen she has on hand, scribbling down digits, “I mean it.”

The moment she crosses the room and slides it into Ann’s hand, Ann’s eyes lock onto it, as though it’s a contract, “You don’t have to call. Don’t feel pressured to.” 

It’s only once she has her hand on the apartment door handle that Ann speaks, “Is it okay for you to go out?” 

“I’ll be fine.” Makoto says as she turns back and offers a small smile, “Whoever’s out there will be more afraid of me than I am of them.” 

The smile is mirrored on Ann’s face, and it’s almost enough to make this feel like the end of any normal night. Almost. 

Makoto takes that feeling with her as she leaves, making sure the door clicks shut behind her.

* * *

 

“You’re back late.” 

Sae’s disapproval is unsurprising, though the fact that she’s actually present at the apartment to display it is. “I must be if you’re actually here. Miss sleeping in your own bed?”

“The driver returned over an hour ago, said he dropped you off right outside Kamurocho. You weren’t answering my calls.” Even here, Sae’s tone is nothing more than business. “I hope you didn’t get yourself wrapped up in something.” 

“It was nothing for you to be concerned about.” She offers the response as she steps past Sae at the dinner table and heads for her own bedroom.

“Is that so…” She hears Sae say, but when she closes the door to her room, the world goes quiet.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

Loud banging on her door serves as a wake-up call. 

“What... Go away.” 

Her grumbling promptly stops the knocking, and the door is opening while her eyes are still mostly closed. “What the hell?”   


“Wake up.” Sae doesn’t give her much of a chance to do so before spiking a newspaper down onto her face. Half asleep, and yet Sae still expects her to read? So demanding. It takes her a second to make out the characters, lines blurring together until--

“What?!”

“So, tell me again-- where did you go when you left last night?” 

It’s still early, but not early enough that Makoto can’t tell left from right, “I didn’t have anything to do with this.” 

Sae taps a foot, so rhythmic it almost doesn’t seem like an anxious habit, and Makoto sits up proper, quickly scanning through the article.

_ LEGENDARY ENTREPRENEUR OKUMURA SHOT DEAD: Late night bloodshed in the club district of  _ _ Kamurocho _ _. No suspect confirmed, though the area is rife with Yakuza activity. Former stomping grounds of the Niijima family, now controlled by the Shido clan. _

“They won’t involve you.” Makoto says, reading through paragraphs of neighbors in the district, sensationalist interviews, politicians complaining about how Tokyo has gone down hill. “Besides, you have an alibi and dozens to attest for it.” 

Sae’s footsteps are heavy against her bedroom floor, and her grip is strong as she yanks the paper out of Makoto’s hands, “Not a single member of that family other than you knows about the latter, and I’d like to keep it that way. As far as they know, I’m not even alive.” 

“Of course.” The moment she says it, a loud pounding resounds through the apartment, only slightly more distant than that of Sae’s knocking earlier, “Going to be hard to keep that cover now, though.”

Sae hurries out of the bedroom, almost completely silent. Getting out of bed now would just draw suspicion; instead, Makoto takes a moment to relax, lounging and trying to catch a wink of sleep as the knocking becomes so intense the front door rattles on its hinges, until there’s a click and the handle turns. 

“Niijima!” The voices aren’t ones she recognizes, but they sure are angry. And loud.

“Sleeping.” She waits until the footsteps stop outside of her bedroom door to crack her eyes open, “Gentlemen.” 

“Fucker. Drop the attitude. We know what you’ve been up to.” 

There are two men, both dressed incredibly bland and neither particularly intimidating, so she calmly replies, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Enough of the shit!” One of the men has the audacity to pull the covers off of her bed, and the cool breeze it creates is enough to make Makoto thankful she went to bed dressed. 

"What a pain", she says with a sigh, climbing out of bed, “Alright, boys. I don’t know what the hell you think I did, but…”

Within an instant, she sprints across the room, pinning one of the men against her wall, forearm pressed against his throat, “Next time you want to send me a wake up call, get someone actually important to do it.” 

She punctuates the sentence by kneeing the man in the crotch, and he doubles over, falling to the floor. Accompanying his groaning is a third pair of footsteps, and slow clapping.

“Well done, but you managed to make one mistake.” The last member of the party makes his appearance, just out of the doorway, “They did send someone important, but I don’t like to get my hands dirty.” 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to, Kaneshiro.” She doesn’t add the footnote of  _ you’re not someone important.  _ With a man already writhing in pain at her feet, it’s probably better to not add more fuel to the fire.

“Unlike some people in this room, hm?” 

“I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t even know where this is coming from.” 

Kaneshiro flings something at her, and Makoto’s just barely quick enough to catch it. Several pages flutter to the ground when it hits her hand, and she can visualize the headline without even reading it, not that Kaneshiro gives her time to, “Then how come this is on your table?” 

“Maybe it was--”

“Enough of the games, Niijima. Get dressed. You have a very important meeting this morning.” Kaneshiro says, voice lined with a hint of glee, and both of his men glare at her as they shuffle out of the room, getting just beyond the door before they turn their backs.

So nice of them to give her privacy. She has half a dozen curse words running through her head as she glances down at the paper again, but doesn’t give voice to any of them, instead crumpling it with one hand and tossing it to the side.

* * *

The car ride is tense, and worst of all, Makoto is flanked by Kaneshiro’s men on both sides, and she can’t even watch out the windows. For someone being brought to, most likely, her death, they could have at least let her enjoy the scenery. 

“I have an alibi, you know.” She mutters. 

“I’m sure the boss would love to hear all about it. It’ll be kind of hard to hear you though, with the screams of pain and all.” 

Kaneshiro laughs at his own attempt at a joke. It’s not funny. It wouldn’t have been funny even if she weren’t in this position, but then again, maybe she’s biased. 

Even now, even with her life potentially in jeopardy, she can’t help but feel disgusted at the man in the front seat in the car, his fat making the seat belt fit a little tighter, his hair shining with grease. If she weren’t accustomed to men like him, she would want nothing more than to leave the car right now. 

As she thinks that, her wish is granted, the car rolling to a stop in a small, private parkway in front of a towering building.

There’s no time to discern where they are, not when she’s getting pushed out of the car and has a man holding each of her arms, but it’s not difficult to figure out. If they’re taking her to the ‘boss’, as Kaneshiro put it,  it can only mean one place. 

The building is cleaner than the family office she most frequents, she thinks as she’s marched along. The hallways are refreshingly free of clutter and the sparse interior decoration is sleek and modern. When they finally push open the door to an office after several long hallways, the atmosphere shifts. Authentic paintings line the walls, lines of shelves with books that look untouched, yet dust-free, and a royal oak desk where a man sits, light glinting in reflection from his bald head. 

“Niijima. I haven’t said that name in a while.” 

“Shido. Likewise.” The men release their hold on her when Shido waves them off, and Makoto has to shake her limbs to regain feeling, “I assume you called me about a misunderstanding.”

“You have an odd definition of calling. Kaneshiro already gave you the overview, I presume?”

“Something like that.” More like a shakedown. She can almost hear the laughter Kaneshiro must be holding back. “Though I am wondering why they sent someone at such a low rank directly to you.” 

“You’re not stupid. You know the weight your name carries.” 

She doesn’t reply. Silence has always sounded better to her than accepting credit for something she inherited.  

“Regardless, even without that, this would have been brought to my attention. We can’t go slaughtering our own carelessly. Okumura was an incredibly powerful asset-- I have half a mind to turn you into the police.” 

“I had nothing to do with--” 

“I have a witness who claims he saw you walk in the direction of the scene last night, with the gunfire following quickly after.” Shido tents his hands, his gaze not leaving her. 

Makoto stares right back, “Who? I wasn’t anywhere near the site.” 

“Why do you ask? Will you confront them?” 

“No.” Her reply is instant, though it just makes Shido laugh as he leans back in his chair.

“You probably think I’m stupid. Like I don’t remember your father or the impulsiveness that runs in his blood. No, I won’t tell you who confided in me. I deserve a little more credit than that.”    


He taps a finger against the knuckles of his opposite hand, “I thought a lot about what the proper punishment should be for this. Execution would be the most cut and dry, but it’s such a mess. The police would love to get their hands on you, but then the media would have a field day about a member of the family killing one of their own. It would look bad for us all.” 

Shido’s eyes become set, serious as he stares her down. “So I’ve come up with an alternative. You’re free to go.” 

“What?!” The question comes from behind her, and the instant loss of composure tells her the voice is Kaneshiro’s, “Sir, she can’t be left alone!” 

“Your hearing works, doesn’t it? She’s free to go.”

Stunned into silence, she has about a thousand questions the moment the words leave Shido's mouth , but she’s not going to make it one thousand and one, not after expecting the worst. Once the shock works its way through her system, she nods, and turns to leave the office, only to be stopped by an outstretched arm. 

“You ain’t going anywhere!” 

If there’s one thing she can say for Kaneshiro’s cronies, it’s that they’re persistent. It’s a good quality to have most of the time. Hearing nothing coming from either Shido or Kaneshiro, she knees the man in the crotch, and carefully steps over him as she leaves the room.

There isn’t a single peep behind her before the door clicks shut.

* * *

The instant she steps into the early morning air of Tokyo, her phone dings. 

**8:03 AM**

**From: ??????:**

Work’s closed today. Something about a murder? Don’t tell me you killed someone.

 

Makoto sighs, and wonders if she should bother calling a taxi or just take the train, given the early morning rush hour traffic and how far the main office is from her apartment. 

 

**8:10 AM**

**From: ??????:**

Please tell me you didn’t kill anyone. 

 

It doesn’t seem to be lightening up at all-- especially not in this area. So there’s no harm in typing up a quick reply.

 

**8:15 AM**

**To: ??????:**

I didn’t. But I've always wondered how rumors spread so quickly. 

 

She starts to walk towards the station. Each step is accompanied by stares, from business men just annoyed she’s taking up their space to housewives trying to figure out what she is. 

 

**8:18 AM**

**From: ????????:**

I mean, it’s not very hard to imagine. Given your, uh, ‘job’. Also it’s all over the news.

 

In a way, she already knows who’s texting her-- only so many people have her number in the first place, but she ought to be careful, so there’s no harm clarifying. 

 

**8:20 AM**

**To: ???????:**

I’m a professional of many things, but murder isn’t one of them. 

Still, not working will keep you off your feet at least.

 

The road crossing is busy, but at least she doesn’t have anywhere else to be, and can ride the wave of people to the opposite sidewalk.

By the time she’s there, there's already another reply in the thread.

 

**8:23 AM**

**From: ?????:**

Yeah, and it’ll keep me from making money tonight, too.

 

Makoto rolls her eyes, and goes to edit her phone contacts only to realize… 

 

**8:25 AM**

**To: ????:**

By the way, what name do you prefer? I’m assuming Ann isn’t an actual name.

 

Does she even remember how to get to the station from here? It’s not hard to follow the crowds, but this part of the district is bustling with cafes and coffee shops she’s only vaguely familiar with. 

 

**8:27 AM**

**From:?????:**

No, it is. Why would you think it isn’t?

 

Makoto starts to type the response, but stops herself before sending. She’d thought-- well, she saw it in a movie once, where a hostess ended up being a side-kick to the hero,only to reveal her true name and nature at the end of it. But that would be a bit complicated to explain, not to mention embarrassing. Better to not bring it up--

 

**8:31 AM**

**From: Ann?:**

Do you think hostesses change their names or something? 

 

**8:32 AM**

**To: Ann:**

NO

I mean. No, I just-- it’s not very formal for someone I’ve just met. 

 

Quickly shoving her phone back in her pocket, lest anyone witness that exchange, she follows the ebbs and flows of the crowd until it takes her to a familiar subway stairwell and her phone buzzes.

 

**8:33 AM:**

**From: Ann** :

Well. you’ve already taken me home. So maybe you should’ve thought about manners before then ;)

 

Makoto buries her face in the crook of her elbow as she coughs, and draws another round of looks as she heads to the platform.

 

**8:35 AM**

**To: Ann:**

That’s not the same. 

**8:37 AM**

**From: Ann:**

I know it’s not. It was a joke, that’s why I put the smile there. To show that it was a joke. 

Are you familiar with the term?

 

Makoto squeezes her phone in hand, tries not to reply immediately in defense of herself, but even once she finally decides she’s calmed down enough to do so, a train rumbles, arriving at the platform, doors sliding open and patrons pouring out.

 

**8:40 AM:**

**From: Ann:**

Do you have some time? We should probably talk about..some stuff. In person.

 

The message comes so perfectly timed in between boarding and her last chance to reply that Makoto doesn’t even have time to dwell on what 'stuff' Ann means before she quickly replies. 

 

**8:41 AM**

**To: Ann:**

Ha. Ha. Very funny joke. Assuming you haven’t gone out and bought anything for your ankle. I have time. Wouldn’t mind bringing some supplies to you.

 

The train overhead dings, giving riders one last shot to hop on before departure. The reply comes just as the doors close again.

 

**8:42 AM**

**From: Ann:**

Sure. But let’s meet somewhere other than my apartment.  

* * *

 

The cafe Makoto finds between the nearest station and Ann’s apartment building is small, nestled into one of the few alleys that isn’t lined with bars. Hard to find in  Kamurocho, and it’s honestly a miracle someplace like this is still open, but she supposes that there does need to be some stores that open before the sun sets. 

There aren’t very many people inside, though there are one or two older people who must be regulars occupying the booths. Makoto slides into one near the end, a space away from everyone else there, and waits. 

Knick-knacks line the walls, the aesthetic of the place a hodgepodge of different influences, from the economic and plain tubs of coffee lined up behind the counter to a painted portrait in the corner. She assumes the older man behind the counter is probably in charge of decorating, and not just keeping his head down and making drinks. 

Though it could just as easily be the younger man, also behind the counter but focused solely on talking to another man on the other side of it. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s working, and that there are other people around, tucked into the corner of the room as he is. If she wasn’t specifically looking, he and whoever he’s talking to would be easy to miss.  

“Here.” Someone beside her says, and when she looks over to see her drink set next to her, she only just barely catches shades of green and orange as her server sprints away. 

This place is bizarre, and everyone here seems focused on their own issues. In other words, it’s perfect. 

A bell rings out over the door, in chorus with the clicking of heels against the hardwood floor. 

Makoto doesn’t even get a chance to call her over. 

“Hello, young lady! Don’t see you around here often. What can I get you?” 

“Uh.” Ann says, and Makoto peaks around the booth just in time to catch her looking around, confused as the older man behind the counter attends to her, “A..mocha? I guess?” 

“You got it. And this one’s on the house. Welcome to LeBlanc.” 

Makoto frowns-- she didn’t get a free drink. She barely even got a hello. As she thinks that, Ann spots her, and smiles as she walks over. 

“Jeez, I had no idea this place even existed, even though it’s so close to my apartment.”   


Makoto can’t help but look at the woman in front of her-- dressed to the nines, a simple skirt and jacket, but paired with jewelry and heels, of all things. She looks like she’s about ready to head out on a date, not meet up with her. 

Then again, it’s not like Makoto can judge. Not when she’s in a full suit and they're not even close to the business districts. Both of them stick out here. Maybe they should’ve gone somewhere more high end for this… 

It’s too late for that thought process now, though, and at least everyone else is doing their own thing, so she responds, “Don’t get out much?” 

“Good morning to you too, I guess. It’s not that I don’t get out, it’s more like I’m constantly working.” The older man from behind the counter brings out Ann’s drink, sliding it onto the table with a small bow before heading back. “Crazy how nice everyone is here.” 

“Can’t imagine why.” Makoto mumbles, but before Ann gets a chance to react, she asks, “Don’t the heels hurt your ankle?”   


“Oh, totally.” Ann takes a sip of her drink, slow and cautious, red lipstick stark against the white of the cup, “But I’m used to that.” 

“Hm.” Makoto mirrors the motion, trying not to wince as the straight, scolding hot black coffee burns as it flows down her throat. “I could’ve just gone to your apartment. I wouldn’t have minded. Probably would have been more private.” 

Ann eyes the various things stacked at the end of the table-- napkins, sugar, sauces, and fiddles with them, keeping her hands busy. “It would have been. But I wanted to get out of there.” 

There are words hanging in the air, but Makoto doesn’t reach for them. That’s not the reason they’re here, anyway. “I brought this.” 

She hands Ann a bag over the table, watches her sort through the contents, “It’s just basic things. Some painkillers, a compression wrap. You really should make sure you’re taking care of yourself, even if it’s just when you’re not working.” 

Ann tentatively closes the bag, setting it down next to the purse she brought in, “I-- Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.” 

“It was nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing. It’s something, and something you didn’t have to do on top of that. So thanks.” 

Makoto nods and takes another sip of her coffee. She tries to ignore the heat rising on her cheeks, bizarre that it’s taken this long for her drink to cool down, even if it no longer burns her mouth as she drinks it. 

“I didn’t think a murderer would go out of their way to do something so nice.”

“Because I’m not one.” Makoto’s response is instant, but when she looks at Ann, she’s smiling. “I already told you that.”

“I know, I know. But that’s all I heard about this morning.”   


Makoto sets down her cup, “From who?”

“The other girls at the club. Everyone heard about the shooting, and since all of… you guys were in the area, they figured it was one of you. And, well, you kind of made a scene of leaving last night, so…”

“Did I…” She did, she knows, even though it wasn’t intentional in the slightest. Really, she had just wanted to leave. 

“I got so many voicemails and messages on RINE that my phone was almost dead when I woke up, and I knew I had to tell you. Though I guess you already knew.” 

“It was the first thing I saw in the morning.” Makoto says, “Rumors spread fast, but if I let that bother me, I’d never get anything done.” 

“Well, that’s easy to say when you know you didn’t do anything. I’m sure it would be a lot tougher to focus if you didn’t have an alibi.” 

“Right.” Makoto sighs-- it would have been better all together to avoid being wrapped up in this in the first place, but there’s only so much she can do, and there’s no sense dwelling on it now. “You said work was cancelled, right? Does that happen often?”

Ann shakes her head, and the corners of her lips slowly sink, “No, it hasn’t happened in the time that I’ve been working there. We’re pretty much open every night, regardless of what happens.”

“Strange.” Makoto mumbles, and takes a second to think about what that implies as she holds her cup between her palms, feels its warmth radiate between them. Must have something to do with her being the main suspect and having last been seen there-- maybe it’s easier to avoid suspicion when you shut down things all together. 

“Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Ann says, and laughs quietly, nervous. 

Makoto looks up at her.

“You do realize that the club is run by Okumura’s daughter, don’t you?” 

The drink slips from her hands, and the mug makes an awful noise as it shatters against the table top.  

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please enjoy this very incredible and good and powerful image from my pal sai
> 
> https://twitter.com/radiostarkiller/status/989701328275460096


	3. Chapter 3

“Relax.” This isn’t happening. Makoto is not being told to relax by a woman she met yesterday, and she is most certainly not standing outside the back door of the same hostess club she met this woman in. “Everything will be fine.”

“Is it too early to start drinking?” Makoto asks weakly.

“You’ll be fine. She’s a nice person. Really.” Ann’s reassurances are doing little for her, but the moment she opens the door, Makoto knows she’s committed to this. 

The club is quiet. Even at this time on any other day, there would likely be noise from workers running around and prepping things, or cleaning up after a long night. Today, there’s no one-- just her and Ann. 

It’s not the terms Makoto had planned on coming back on--it’d be a lie to say she was planning on coming back at all.

Ann leads her through the kitchen, into a small hallway, out of sight of the main area of the club. Here there are several doors, a few of them cracked open to reveal dressing rooms, walls lined with mirrors and cabinets. Even the hallway is lined with boxes and racks of clothes.  

The further the hallway goes, the more cleaned up it becomes, and names are plaquared on the doors. Only one light shines under any of them, and it’s the one at the end of the hallway, the door cracked open and a brass plate on it that reads ‘OKUMURA’. 

Ann knocks quietly, and Makoto takes a deep breath as the door swings open. 

Who answers isn’t at all who Makoto expects. In the brief time she’d had to think about it, she’d figured that Okumura was a middle age woman, a daughter of money who had fallen into managing a club just by circumstance. 

Instead, what she sees is a young woman, who can’t be much older than her, if at all, wearing bright colors, the sun shining directly into the office behind her. 

“Ann-chan, I’m glad you’re here.” The girl-- woman, Makoto corrects herself-- smiles, and pulls Ann into a big hug, despite being several inches shorter. “And--” 

She turns to Makoto, and Makoto looks for words that she’s suddenly misplaced. Thankfully, Ann backs her up.

“This is Makoto.” Ann gestures over her shoulder, “And we have some things to talk about with you.”

The smile on Okumura’s face drops slightly, only enough to be noticed, before she slowly nods, and steps into the office.

Okumura’s office is unlike anything else in the club, or in Kamurocho, for that matter. Bookshelves lines the walls, and each rack seems to be occupied by a plant, kept alive by the copious amount of sunlight shining in. It’s amazing that they even get any sun at street level here, even more so that it’s enough to keep things living. 

The rest of the office is more or less standard-- a desk, chairs, a filing cabinet. It would be any old office in any old building, if Makoto didn’t know better.

“Come, sit.” Okumura gestures to a pair of seats in front of her desk, though Ann’s already helped herself, plopping onto one. Makoto is much more calculated, taking the one open chair and making sure her back is straight as she sits-- it’d be terrible if Okumura thought she was a slob. “Sorry it’s a mess in here.”

“Don’t apologize!” Ann says immediately, “If anything, we shouldn’t have dragged you out here. I can’t imagine-- I mean, how are you holding up?”

“I’m… doing alright, all things considered.” Okumura slides into her spot behind the desk, somehow pairing her petite mannerisms with authority and making it work, “I can’t say I’m doing well, but I’ll manage.” 

She seems fixated on something on top of the desk, but at this angle Makoto can’t get a good glimpse of it. Still, she figures she should say something. “I’m sorry for intruding.” 

That gets Okumura’s attention. “You aren’t. In fact, if there’s anyone I would want to talk to today, it’d be you.” 

“I’m--” Makoto can’t place the words--she should be practiced with this at this point, given the amount of times she’d had to reiterate that she is  _ not  _ a murderer today, but it’s still tricky. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Okumura’s eyes are on her, and she feels herself shrink, “Ann-chan already assured me you had nothing to do with what happened last night.” 

There’s press against Makoto’s shoulder, and she looks over to see Ann’s hand and a warm smile, “Forgive Makoto, she’s… awkward.” 

Makoto squints, opens her mouth to argue that she is not, actually, but then she hears a small giggle that pulls her attention back to Okumura. “Please don’t be uncomfortable here. Everyone here is a good person, I assure you.” 

How Okumura can even manage to be cheerful right now is beyond her, but Makoto lets the thought slip from her mind when Okumura speaks again, eyes trained directly on her. “I was the first one to hear of my father’s death, and I was the first to hear the name Niijima thrown around in association. Trust me, if I wanted you to be uncomfortable, I could make that happen.” 

Okumura’s gaze is deadly, and it strikes a deeper fear into Makoto than she’s ever felt before a brawl. “U-Understood.”

“I spent the morning thinking about that. Ways that I could make you understand how I felt, because it was so… obvious who was behind it. There was even a witness who claimed it was you. I was dead set on destroying your life. That is, until Ann-chan called me.” 

“Oh?” What’s Makoto supposed to say about that? Thankfully, she doesn’t have to say anything as Ann leans in close to her, hand still planted against her shoulder. 

“I was getting so many messages about it, I had to let her know.” Ann says, her voice quieter, as though it’s only for Makoto’s ears, but it’s obvious Okumura can hear her. 

The explanation creates more questions than it answers. “Know? Know what?” 

“Ann told me you walked her home last night. That she was getting hit on by someone and you stepped in to stop it.” Okumura steeples her hands together, her eyes still not leaving Makoto’s “And that when you were leaving, you heard the gunshots. Though she didn’t say anything about where you went after…” 

The pause kills the air in the room. Makoto didn’t go anywhere, and she knows it, but when she opens her mouth to speak, Ann intervenes. “Because she didn’t go anywhere. She stayed with me.” 

That prompts Okumura to lean back in her chair, her gaze shifting from Makoto to Ann. “You didn’t tell me that, Ann-chan.” 

Makoto can feel all the points Ann is touching her, a hand against her shoulder, Ann’s breath against her neck, and yet she can only focus on the words being said, her heartbeat and breathing off-kilter. 

“It’s embarrassing, so I wanted to tell you in person. And just you. You know how rumors spread.” 

“I do.” There’s a level of surprise in Okumura’s voice that mirrors Makoto’s own, though her words still lie trapped at the bottom of her throat. “But if you had told me, I wouldn’t have had to worry at all.”

“Well, I brought her over here right away, didn’t I? That was really the best I could do.” Ann’s hand shifts from Makoto’s shoulder to her thigh, a barely there sort of touch that’s probably just for the act but does nothing to help the tightness in her chest, “The reason Makoto came back was…”

Okumura’s attention spins back to her, and she can sense Ann’s eyes at her side, and-- and this isn’t a lie she can double down on, but if she doesn’t….

“That’s right, I… couldn’t stop thinking about her.” She makes a compromise with her conscious, and it isn’t technically a lie. 

The chair beside her creaks, but she doesn’t look over to see Ann’s reaction. 

“I came back, and saw her getting hit on by…” She remembers what Ann said about Kamoshida being a frequent customer. Best not to burn that bridge. “Some creep, so I had to step in and make sure she was alright.” 

A sly smile spreads across Okumura’s face. “And you had to make her feel better.” 

“R-right.” God, it’s easier talking to higher ups in the family than this.

Ann leans back, and Makoto thanks every deity she can think of for the space to breathe. But Ann’s motives become apparent as she taps Makoto on the head, like she’s a child who did good on a test, as she says to Okumura “And god, did she ever! I hope you don’t care if I skimp on those details, though.” 

A laugh, something more menacing than anything Okumura has even said thus far, and Makoto’s half-tempted to jump out of her seat and get out of here before Okumura starts speaking again, “Lovely. I wouldn’t mind hearing the details any other day, but today I’m a little… preoccupied with things.”

She stands, offers a hand to Makoto, who shakes it tentatively. “I just needed to meet with you, face-to-face. As much as I trust Ann-chan, it was nice to see you with my own eyes. You hardly seem like the type to take a life.”

Her attention turns to Ann, eyes softer, “Thanks for reaching out. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.” 

“Of course.” Ann nods, and her hand slips against Makoto’s as she stands, “C’mon, I think Haru-chan wants some time alone.” 

Makoto abides by the gentle request, standing, but she can’t look away from Okumura. There’s no way she can read her, not while she’s like this. Confident and threatening one minute, and sad the next.

Then again, Makoto should know better than anyone that every person processes loss differently, and when her and Ann make it to the hallway and the door to Okumura’s office clicks shut, she has other things on her mind. The realization of what just happened-- the intricately woven story that she unwittingly committed to forces her hand. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” 

She barely manages to keep her voice down through her rage, and Ann promptly rips her hand away before responding, “What, were you just going to tell her where you went?! I didn’t even know!” 

“Home! I went to bed! That’s it! Why would you purposely make up something so much more complicated?!”

“Because!” Ann says, and then hushes herself, and looks around at the empty halls and rooms for signs of life. After a moment of silence, she replies, “Don’t you realize what she could have done? There’s no way anyone would believe you-- and who was even out late enough to act as a witness to it? No one.” 

Makoto feels the frame of one of the office doors hit her back, and wonders when she started backing away. Ann’s backed away too, and before Makoto knows it, they’re at opposite sides of the hallway. “If no one believes me, why would you make up something to cover for me? I could’ve done that for myself if I felt it was necessary. Why would you try to protect me? For all you know, I could’ve been involved, even if I wasn’t directly responsible.”

Ann’s eyes are fixed towards the floor, and she’s quiet when she says, “You could’ve been. But I know you weren’t.” 

“How?”

Ann’s eyes are a vivid blue, more like the hottest part of a flame then any body of water Makoto's ever seen “I don’t know. Does it matter, now?” 

It does, because Makoto has every right to defend herself and share her truth. But it doesn’t, because everyone already came to their own conclusions without giving her that opportunity. “I guess not.” 

“Exactly,” There’s little light in this place, outside of Okumura’s office, where the sun still seeps under the crack in the door. Everything is quieter in the dark. 

“We should--” Ann starts, stops, “I’m going to stay back and talk to Haru a bit. I feel like she needs someone around right now.” 

Makoto nods. “You’re probably right.” 

It isn’t her place to be that person, even if memories of empty rooms in an empty apartment ring louder than she would like them to. She doesn’t know Okumura, and has no need to know her. “I should get going, anyway.”    


Ann mumbles her agreement, and as she turns back towards the office, says over her shoulder, “Stay safe out there.” 

“You too.” Ann opens the door without knocking, and disappears into the sun-soaked office, and Makoto turns, finding her way back out into the city air. 

* * *

Honking from the rush hour traffic rings in every corner of the district, crowds going into and out of stores and restaurants and people going home make up the lifeblood of the city. It’s easy enough to got lost in, and Makoto weaves between couples and businessmen on her way back to her apartment. 

Crowds are a good cover, but also a huge hassle, and at the first opportunity, she slips into a side alleyway. Years of experience have ingrained the layout of certain parts of the city, memories of running from trouble or towards it, and the turns are more instinctive than anything else. It takes longer, but at least she doesn’t have to worry about knocking into an elderly woman or an angry-looking man every other step.

When she was younger, these paths seemed so much larger-- stretching on endlessly, like rivers cut through the earth, something she could never master but could only hope to cross. Now everything keeps getting smaller, even as the amount of people in the area dwindles. 

Maybe it’s just her attitude and her world view. For years, all she’s seen are these same streets, these same crowds. Maybe familiarity makes everything shrink. 

Or maybe she’s just thinking too much, because the scenery of the alleys is incredibly dull and dreary, and the most interesting part of these walks is seeing the occasional couple or group of high schoolers trying to rebel by slapping stickers on the side of a light post. 

She rounds a corner, only a couple of blocks away from home. Above her is the whirl of fans from apartment windows, trying to get whatever circulation they can from the stale air. These side alleys make Tokyo seem practically like a ghost town, aside from the dripping of condensation from cooling equipment, the hums of vending machines, and the now-distant sounds of traffic. 

Practically is the key word here. Even if she gets lost in her thoughts, Makoto knows well enough to not fall into daydreaming, and the second she hears more than one pair of feet shuffling at her side, she spins around. 

Sure enough, a small pack of men-- younger men, more like boys-- spill out of a crevice between buildings, one by one, forming a line in front of her. 

She’s seen this movie before, even if it’s been awhile, and she can’t help rolling her eyes as she greets them. “Nice ambush.” 

“Shuddup!” One of them barks, “You cocky son of a--” 

“Enough,” Another begins, stepping in front of the others. “We came here for a reason. Do you have any idea what that reason is?” 

Makoto pulls a hand from her pocket and rubs the bridge of her nose. If only she’d had enough time to run back and get her bike before meeting with Ann, she’d already be long gone by now. Now she has another headache to deal with. “I have a few educated guesses.” 

“God, you really are cocky, aren’t you?” The pseudo-leader of the pack says, his tone quickly mirroring that of his affronted comrade.

“Look, I’m sure your hearts are possibly in a good place. But I have a lot going on right now, so if you’re going to try and jump me, can we just get it over with?” 

“Fuck yeah!” Two of the men cheer in unison. 

“You aren’t even going to ask us to take turns?” The leader’s voice wavers, and Makoto knows she has this in the bag already. 

Makoto doesn’t hesitate in answering, “I’d rather just take you out all at once.”

“That’s it!” A man yells at her right, and it’s just clumsy enough for Makoto to scoot past his charge. He’s quick to turn around, but Makoto is far faster, ducking and throwing a punch directly in his stomach, hard enough for him to careen to the ground. 

When she stands up straight again, the other men hop back, except the leader, who steps up to her but doesn’t move to strike. “I’m not scared of you. What are you gonna do, kill us? Think you can get away with murder two days in a row?” 

She takes a deep breath. It’s getting on her nerves, but when she opens her mouth to respond, the leader cuts her off. 

“Your name doesn’t mean shit to me. It might have gotten you out of trouble this time, but it’s only because Shido is too much of a coward. He’s just waiting for someone else to do you in for him.” 

“And you’re going to be the one to do that? By what-- standing here and talking about it?” Makoto can’t help her smirk when she sees how that ignites the man, and those around him. 

“Fuck you. You’re gonna regret this.” He cocks his head the side, and two of the remaining men run towards her. 

Being athletic helps, but it’s years of training that have ingrained the probable patterns into her, standard tactics used by weaker fighters, and she easily steps under and through their attacks, swinging kicks as they come back around. There’s nothing flashy about the way her foot connects with their ribs, enough momentum to deliver a hit that sets them both off balance before she slams her heel back down, plants again as she pulls her arm back. 

A loud crack greets her knuckles as they connect with the back of one of the goon’s skulls, slamming him into the ground and she spins to land an elbow against the face of the other when he tries to catch her off guard. One more uppercut finishes him off, and he joins his friend in eating asphalt near her feet.

No sense letting her guard down-- she turns on her heel, but she barely catches a glimpse the back of the suits of the rest of the group before they round a corner out of her sight. She could chase them, but… 

It’d put her outside for longer than she wants, and the knuckles on her right hand throb. She needs to get out of here--people picking fights in this area later in the day tend to bring a few more accessories to the table, and she’s in no position to deal with that. No sense taking that risk.

Instead, she takes inventory of the measly remainders of the bunch, groaning and squirming on the street, and the words fall out more than she says them. “My name may label me, but I don’t wear it on my fists. They don’t need it.” 

She steps over one of them as she leaves, ducking back into the flow of the main road. The convenience of the alleys doesn’t seem worth the potential trouble, not today, at least. As she swerves through the foot traffic, she notices another small group-- this one three strong, each man dressed in suits far too flashy to be ordinary businessmen. Not to mention the intense focus they’re scanning the crowd with-- it’s a dead giveaway.

There’s little question about who they’re looking for. It’d be easy for Makoto to approach them without them noticing, but when she curls her hand into a fist and it burns, she decides better, instead redirecting her energy to locating into the next building she can find that isn’t peddling seedy items and stepping inside, out of sight.

The moment she walks through the door, she’s greeted by soft piano music, and lighting that’s probably supposed to set the mood, but comes out mostly as dim. It’s early enough in the afternoon that there isn’t a large crowd, only two people sitting at the bar and a larger woman standing on the opposite side, washing a glass. 

There’s also no windows-- no way for her to see if the men have moved on, but also no way for them to find her without her knowing. It’s perfect. She can wait here for a few minutes until they move on, and then--

“You going to be buying anything, handsome, or are you just trying to enjoy the aesthetics?” A deep voice booms across the bar, and it hits Makoto how suspicious she must seem. Standing around, eyeing the place up, and, well, one drink couldn’t hurt. At the very least, it’ll make sure enough time passes for those goons to get a move on. 

She saddles up to the bar, leaving a space between herself and the other patrons.

“What can I get ya? You waiting on a date or something?” The woman steps in front of her.

The bartender’s wearing a fancy kimono, and Makoto’s half tempted to point out that if anyone looks ready for a date, it’s her, but instead, she just mumbles, “Rum and coke. And I-- I’m coming from a date.” 

Not technically incorrect, depending on the definition of ‘date’. The bartender nods, and sets to mixing the drink. It’s not the sort of bar Makoto would frequent; too big, for one, but at least it’s quiet. 

“So-- how’d the date go?” So much for quiet. Makoto turns to the man beside her, if only to get a good look at the kind of man who would ask her such a personal question. His scraggly, black hair looks like it hasn’t been combed for a week, but combined with his outfit, it works to pull off an image. It’s the image of someone who’s just woken up from a nap-- she doubts that’s what he’s going for, but it works. 

“Well, all things considered, it wasn’t bad.” She responds. She wasn’t killed and still has all limbs fully intact. Given the circumstances, that’s an incredibly successful day, but that’s not exactly something she can say out of the blue. 

“Are they hot?” He asks, and is immediately hit on the arm by the woman next to him, “What?! It’s a fair question!” 

“Don’t you already have a boyfriend? Or was it a girlfriend?” She asks. This woman is a bit more put together, but only a bit-- her style is a mish-mash of different inspirations, though it all combines to create an image of a woman acting like she’s fifteen years younger than she is. It’s… less than convincing.

“I’m a man of many interests.” He says, holding a hand to his chest. 

Thankfully, a glass is placed in front of Makoto before he turns back to her and says, “Didn’t mean to intrude. And I’m not going to steal your lover. Any stealing of their heart is utterly unintentional.” 

“Right.” Makoto mutters, and quickly drinks. 

Makoto catches him squinting at her from the corner of her eye, though she’s not sure how that helps him see when he’s already wearing glasses, and he asks, “Have I met you somewhere before?” 

“Doubt it.” She might need more than one drink. 

“No, I’ve definitely seen that suit somewhere. The scowl is familiar, too.” 

“I’m- I’m not scowling.” She tries to force a smile, but it just comes out feeling shaky and foreign.

“Right. Have you ever been to LeBlanc?” 

LeBlanc-- the name is vaguely familiar, like she’s seen it on the street before. Maybe it’s a restaurant she’s gone out to--

Just as she thinks that, the man snaps his fingers, “You have! I saw you there this morning, with the gorgeous blonde.” 

The woman besides him scoffs, “Figures you would remember that.” 

Memories come back a lot quicker when a place is brought with them, and suddenly the memory of the young, disinterested man behind the counter morphs into the entirely too interested young man beside her, and she nods before she answers. “You’re right.”

“So you’re following me, then—“

He’s interrupted by another smack on the arm, “Cut it out, would you?! Not everyone is as obsessed with you as you are.” 

The pair of them start to bicker, and the bartender leans in close. “Just ignore them. They’re always like that. Not used to people who aren’t regulars.”

“I see.” Makoto’s drink is strong, and the burn of alcohol is enough to distract her from the soreness in her foot and her hand. It’s probably not the best pain reliever, but it’s does it’s job. 

“In all seriousness,” They apparently solved their quarrel while she wasn’t paying attention, because the man is talking to her again, “I hope you’re not reacting to a bad date. Resorting to alcohol might feel good in the short term, but will only hurt you in the long run.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She mumbles. She’s got to get out of here— there are things she has to do tonight that are too important to skip out on.

“Name’s Ren, by the way. Amamiya. For when we run into each other again.” 

“Ichiko Ohya.” The other woman waves over his shoulder, “And this here’s LaLa-chan.”

It’s a weirdly familial atmosphere, but then again, Makoto’s not sure what she should have expected from a bar like this in the afternoon. But familiarity and strong drinks can very easily lead to mistakes, ones even she’s not immune to making. 

She quickly finishes her drink on that thought, “I should really get going. I’m sure I’ll be back again, sometime.” 

“Take care of yourself.” LaLa says it naturally and seemingly without a second thought, but it still catches Makoto’s ear. Not the kind of dismissal she usually gets from bars in Kamurocho. 

“Nice to meet you officially. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” Ren’s smirk is sharp as he waves her off. 

“Right.” Makoto says back; there’s no way she can match his friendly demeanor.  

As she walks away, the group goes back to chatting casually with one another, and the sounds of laughter fade off when she opens the door to the city once more. 

It might not be one of her usual haunts, but as Makoto steps into the street, and doesn’t see the pursuers of before, she decides it’s served its purpose well enough. 

_ Crossroads,  _ she takes a mental note of the building’s name and location. Maybe, someday, she’ll make good on her word and come back. 

For now, there’s somewhere else she needs to go, and she hurries back to the apartment and hops on her bike.

* * *

 


	4. Chapter 4

Will this day ever end? 

Makoto doesn’t ask. She doubts that the person sitting across from her would care enough to answer.

As if on cue, she says her first words to Makoto. “You made it out alive. And intact. That’s impressive.” 

“It  _ is _ impressive, I have to admit. Aren’t you happy to see me, Sis?” This time Makoto does ask, even though she knows the answer. 

She doesn’t expect that answer to involve Sae throwing her drink against her face, but at least it helps her cool down a little. 

She rubs the sleeve of her suit jacket against her eyes, makes sure none of the alcohol drips from her eyebrows as she slowly cracks them open. “I’m going to take that as a yes.” 

“You were a smartass _ ,  _ to Kaneshiro, of all people?” 

“To be fair, it was just his goons, at first.” 

“Even then.” Sae’s palm slams against the table, loud in the quiet back room of the parlor, “Don’t you have any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?” 

“Of course I do.” Though she’s still not sure on the answer of how she got  _ herself _ into it, like it was anything she consciously did that--

Well, she did go back to the club. And kicked a random man’s ass. That probably had a hand in it.

“You’re lucky they let you off.” Their meeting spot is secluded, and she hasn’t noticed anyone walking through here the whole time they’ve been talking. She wonders, distantly, if Togo is working, “If it had been me in that position, you wouldn’t have been so lucky.” 

“It’s not. So it doesn’t matter.”  The words sting with more malice than she means them too. 

Sae’s icy stare doesn’t melt at all.

“I’ll stay here. But you can’t, not for the long term.” 

“I figured. Would just raise more suspicion if I disappeared without a word.” 

Tapping her fingernails like a bored secretary, Sae’s patience is running low. “I don’t really give a damn about suspicion on  _ you.  _ You brought that on yourself. But I can’t have them find this place.” 

“Or you."

She sees Sae’s back straighten, and Makoto knows she’s pushing it. She shouldn’t be, but it’s almost instinctive around her sister-- she wonders when she started feeling the need to push away from her. If it ever started, or if it’s just been a constant since the moment she was born. 

“You should get out of here. Get home early, and stay there.” There’s not even a hint of concern in Sae’s voice, as if she had ever given Makoto a reason to look for one. “And don’t mess around on the way back. Who knows who’s waiting on you?” 

Makoto nods and stands, catches a whiff of the alcohol that’s still dousing the front of her shirt as she turns to leave.

She does as she’s told, for once, making a beeline back to the entrance before a whistle catches her attention, followed quickly by a poker chip colliding with the back of her head. 

Only one person in this building has the aim or the audacity to do that. 

“Makoto-kun, I hope you weren’t planning to leave without saying goodbye. Or hello, for that matter.” 

“Togo-san.” Makoto spins around, sees the young woman standing behind the table to her right, only one man in front of her. “I’d hate to interrupt your game.” 

The man waves, his face obscured by the drink he has in hand. He can’t be much older than she is, if at all-- how did he even find himself in a place like this? Let alone dressed in a completely guadey white suit with a red tie, clashing with the facial hair he has covering most of his face. If he had even a hint of style, she might easily mistake his profession. 

But, well. Maybe some people just want to look their best for going out on any given night. Who is she to judge? His shirt isn’t the one dripping with booze, after all. 

He’s given his permission to her, and it won’t be long before Sae returns to the floor. Makoto rounds the end of the table, and leans against the edge of the dealers alcove, leaving no space between her and Togo. 

Togo doesn’t try to move away-- if anything, she shuffles closer, until Makoto can feel her against her side. “What are you in such a hurry for?” 

“I just-- I have to get to an appointment.” 

“I see.” Togo’s eyes travel down Makoto’s front, and there’s an urge to cover herself before she remembers she’s clothed. “You should come again tomorrow, then.” 

“Can’t. I, um, won’t be able to be here for a bit.” 

Crease fold in Togo’s forehead as she frowns, running a hand down the length of Makoto’s tie. Gentle movement, but there’s no doubt of the force of Togo’s strength, just beneath the surface. “What a troublesome knight you are."

“The worst.” Makoto whispers, “But you have my number.” 

“I plan to use it. Make sure you pick up.” Togo lets the tie slip through her fingers, hand resting against Makoto’s. 

She nods, and Togo leans in, planting a kiss on her cheek as someone clears their throat. Makoto spins around and sees Sae at the end of the walkway, staring daggers in her direction. 

One last squeeze of the hand, and Makoto lets go, leaving the building as quickly as possible with the pressure of eyes at her back. 

* * *

The trip back is much different tonight. 

Not only is she alone this time, seated on the back of her motorcycle as it roars through the streets of Tokyo, but it’s so much earlier in the night. People are out and about, and by the time she reaches Kamurocho, the traffic is practically sitting still. 

It doesn’t matter much to her, though, as she weaves in and out of cars, maneuvering her bike wherever it fits. Her apartment is close by, just a few lights away, and as they change in quick succession, her mind keeps going back to everything that’s happened in just a day. 

Being let go by Shido without harm, meeting up with Ann and Okumura, Sae’s advice… it wouldn’t have been so overwhelming if she wasn’t the topic of every conversation, if she wasn’t forced to defend herself at every turn. 

There’s a part of her that wants to burrow into the apartment and never leave, unless called upon, singing in unison with Sae’s voice. As she slows into the parking lot adjacent to the building and locks her bike, she pulls her phone from her pocket as several message notifications blitz across the screen.

**7:47 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

I have tomorrow off. I meant what I said. You had better make time. 

**7:59 PM**

**From: Matsuda:**

I hope you’re not hungover from all that intense shit last night. I’m at the usual spot. Meet me.

 

A night out sounds… less than appealing. Combine that with the company, and there’s no way it’s a good idea. 

Still, her hands shake when she scrolls through her phone. She has to get this energy out somewhere. Pressing a colorful icon on the main screen, she quickly types ‘GYMS’ into the search function of the app. Several results pop up, from chains to one spot shops, even a convenience store. 

There’s one only a few blocks from the apartment-- close enough to not get her in trouble on the way there or back, and based on the sparse info the app has, not well known either. It’s perfect. 

Just for a little bit. It won’t even be late by the time she’s done, and it’s technically keeping her health in check. Sae can’t possibly complain about it. 

She locks her phone and heads up to her apartment, and doesn’t dwell on wondering why she cares what Sae thinks in the first place.

* * *

 

Everything about the place is exactly like she expects.   
Well, not  _ exactly _ \-- she could barely find it, the entrance to the building just a door on the side of a cookie cutter office space, and the gym itself located, unmarked, in the basement. Few places in Kamurocho are unfamiliar, even if she’s just seen them in passing, but this is one. Must be new. 

When she cracks the door open, she sees why; the floor is sparse of equipment, with a maximum of two machines for each workout available and all of it looking second hand. It’s not helped by the decorations-- or, it wouldn’t be if there were any decorations. The walls are bare, exposed brick painted white clashing horribly with the dull grey of the concrete floor. 

At the very least, there’s a reception desk, not that there’s anyone sitting behind it. As soon as she takes more than two steps in, there’s a clang of metal and a loud ‘Yo!’ 

Out of the forest of equipment steps a boy, with bright blonde hair and doused in sweat. “Oh, shit-- Sorry!” 

Makoto stares him up and down, from stained sweatpants to soaked-through shirt, as he greets her, “I thought you were someone else. Um, welcome, I guess?” 

Must have run out of options for front office staff, or maybe this is someone’s kid who lucked into the job based on his blood. 

Then again, that’s only an assumption. 

“So, you here to work out?” He rubs the back of his head, “Or, uh, I mean, what else would you be here for?” 

She nods. “Do you know where the receptionist is? I believe I’ll need to check in or register to--” 

He puffs his chest out, banging a fist against it, “You’re talkin’ to him! Actually, I’m the owner. We don’t really have a secretary or whatever.” 

There’s really no way this boy is old enough to own a car, let alone an entire store. “You’re not-- Are you?” 

“What, you think I can’t run a shop? Like it’s that hard?” 

His whole demeanor changes at the slightest hint of confrontation, and though Makoto isn’t exactly  _ against  _ burning off energy this way, it’s undoubtedly not what she meant to happen tonight. “Not what I said. You just seem a little…”

Aggressive. Childish. Immature. “Informal. I’m used to dealing with businessmen.” 

“Yeah, well, forget that noise.” He waves her off. “If you’re here, you better get used to dealing with me. I’m the most regular customer there is, after all.” 

Based on the state of the place, he’s more like the only customer, but Makoto doesn’t comment.

“Well, make yourself at home, I guess.” The boy goes back towards one of the machines, tightening it’s pulleys without even looking back in her direction. 

“Don’t I need to-- isn’t there a membership system?”

“Oh,” He turns on his heel, and looking around the room, says, “I mean, I guess? You can give me a couple hundred yen and we’ll call it even.” 

“How does that math work out?” She mutters under her breath, but digs into her jacket pocket, pulling out some bills, “This is just for tonight, then. Please consider setting up a proper system for this sort of thing.” 

Sweaty palms grab the cash from her hand, and set it nonchalantly down on top of the desk. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place isn’t exactly popping with people. You’re the first non-friend customer I’ve had, like… ever.” 

The door is still very close to her. If she wanted to, she could just leave right now. Few things sound as un-appealing as working out alone with a random man in a basement room, but once she sets her bag down, she’s locked in. Let him try something, if he’s feeling ballsy. 

“Do you have a locker room somewhere?” 

“There’s a bathroom in the corner there, it’s got a stall in it. Kind of an all-gender situation, though.” 

“Doesn’t matter to me.” 

Not like she needs it right now, anyway. Pulling off her sweats first to reveal a pair of shorts, and then her hoodie--

“Holy shit, dude!” He practically yells, and Makoto has to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Has he really not seen a woman change before? 

“You’re-- Fuck, those are sick.” Makoto glances at where he’s staring, and he’s pointing, but it’s not where she expects. Instead, it’s at her arms, not covered by the fabric of a dress shirts sleeves for once.

“Oh.”

“Oh?! Dude, your arms are  _ covered,  _ and they look fuckin’  _ sick!” _ In a second, he’s at her side, nearly touching her, “You gotta show me them! I’ve been wanting to get ink forever.” 

He’s uncomfortably close, but his interest is… genuine. He’s not looking at her chest or anywhere else, just at the tattoos intertwining on each arm, flowing down to her wrist and back up into her shoulders, where it dips under her shirt. 

“Sorry- it must have slipped my mind. I should’ve worn long sleeves.”

Waving her off, he squats, trying to trace each line with his eyes, “Dude, don’t even worry about it. I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“Do you really want to see them?” She asks, lifting her arm a little just in time to see him nod. 

And-- well, what’s the difference? He’s already seen her arms, and that the ink there leads elsewhere. There’s no reason not to show him, and she carefully lifts the shirt over her head, leaving her clad in only a sports bra. 

“Oh, man.” He gasps, “Holy shit.” 

It probably is pretty intimidating to the average person to see someone’s torso almost entirely covered with tattoos, save for a line of untouched skin running down from her neck, though seeing it in the mirror daily has made Makoto desensitized to it. 

“I’m not taking any more off, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He forces his eyes away from her tattoos and back to her face, and they go wide. 

“N-No, I don’t want to see it. You could probably kick my ass if I did.” 

“I assure you I can.” 

He laughs nervously, “Seriously though, that’s some sick stuff. It must have taken forever to get done.” 

Memories of years spent in the same chair, sessions hours long, the corners of the room steeped in darkness come flooding back, “You could say that.” 

“I meant what I said though. Don’t worry about it, I’m not some stuck up loser about that kind of thing.” He pounds his chest, “Other people may get scared, but I don’t.” 

“That’s nice.” She couldn’t care less if he  _ was  _ scared. Honestly, at this point, she just wants to work out. 

Instead, he does a small parody of a bow, “Name’s Sakamoto Ryuji. Make yourself at home.” 

“Makoto. Er--” He knows about her tattoos, but there’s an off chance he’s read the news today. No sense stirring the waters, or bringing more questions on herself. “Nakajima.”

“So, uh, Nakajima?” Ryuji scratches the back of his head. 

“Makoto is fine.”

“Got it.” He nods, and he’s back to smiling, “Well, I don’t got much-- just a few machines and a boxing ring in the corner, but uh, feel free to use whatever.” 

That catches her attention, “Boxing ring?” 

“You a fighter?” They’ve gotten to a point in the conversation where Ryuji’s no longer surprised at what she has to say-- it’s a welcome change, “Hell yeah I got a boxing ring. Follow me.”    


* * *

 

“You’re-- You’re full of shit.” Ryuji manages to sputter out between pants. “Sayin’ you never boxed before.” 

“I haven’t.” She isn’t lying. Her fights never take place inside squares or cages.

“Damn,” He’s latching onto the ropes at the side of the arena, trying to catch any breath he can, “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised though. Not like boxin’ is hard or anythin’.”

It takes… something to say that kind of a thing immediately after getting your ass kicked, but Makoto gives him the benefit of the doubt. In the brief time she’s known him, Ryuji has shown he’s a man of pride. Extremely fragile pride.

“I gotta take a break. I don’t know how many rounds I can go tonight... “ 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.” A different voice rings out, and it’s one Makoto’s familiar with. “Oh, you’re here too, huh? You sure you’re not following me?” 

“Dude, knock it off!” Ryuji yells, hopping out of the ring and punching the new visitor on the shoulder, “You know Makoto though?”    


“You could say that,” Makoto answers, as she heads out of the ring too, “I can promise you I’m  _ not  _ following you, though. Amamiya, was it?”

He smirks, and Ryuji’s eyes bounce between them, “Whoa, dude! I swear, you know everyone in this prefecture.” 

“I might.” Amamiya says, before his attention turns back to Makoto. “Still, I wouldn’t have pegged you to be so…. Well-toned.” 

The air is weirder with three of them-- weirder than when she was raining punches down on Ryuji, to be sure, and she suddenly feels pressure to leave. Like the two of them are connected in a way she can’t interfere with, or doesn’t want to. 

“I guess I’m just full of surprises.” She says before heading across the room, tossing the few things she brought back into her bag before pulling the sweats on over her clothes.

“I suppose so.” Amamiya responds, quiet, and the gym falls silent amongst them before Makoto hears feet scrambling towards her. 

“You’re wrappin’ it up already? You’re comin’ back, ain’t ya?” The atmosphere may have suddenly gotten weird, but Ryuji’s enthusiasm is genuine and charming. 

And, well--if she’s going to have spend the next however many days, weeks or months keeping out of trouble, doesn’t it only make sense to have a place to go that isn’t a bar? 

“Yes-- I will be. You have my word.” 

Ryuji grins wide, giving her a big thumbs up before saying, “Hell yeah! Next time we spar, there’s gonna be no holding back!” 

His smile is contagious, and she grins and nods back at him before he turns and walks back to Amamiya.

Something in his smirk-- one she barely sees over Ryuji’s shoulder-- makes her own fade at the edges. 

But it’s rude to stare, so without a second thought, she’s out the door and headed back to the surface.

* * *

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

The clock on her wall is obnoxiously loud, though she’s never noticed it before tonight. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

She sits up in bed, feels her abs burn a little from all of the days activities, and reads the time-- just after 9 pm.

With nothing stopping her, she flops back onto the mattress. 9 PM? What do people who sleep at 9 PM  _ do  _ with their lives? 

Probably take care of their families. Or sleep because they have to wake up early to ge to the office the next day. Logically, it makes sense, but the feeling of sleeping so early just seems like a waste-- especially when there’s so much out there to see. 

The notification noise on her phone stops her dwelling, and she pulls it up to see a string of messages from Masuda. 

**8:56 PM**

**From: Masuda:**

You’re going to have to meet up with Boss tomorrow. 

**8: 58 PM**

**From: Masuda:**

If you think you’re going to be able to run from now on, just because Shido let you off the hook, you’ve got another think coming. 

**9:01 PM**

**From: Masuda:**

Be in by 8. 

**9:02 PM**

**To: Masuda:**

And what if I show up at 8:30?

**9:05 PM**

**From: Masuda:**

Do you really want to know the answer to that question?

 

She doesn’t respond, instead, locking her phone and throwing it to the side. So maybe it’s a good thing she’s in bed early, then, but it doesn’t make it feel like any less of a waste-- not when she’s spent almost her whole life up all night. Almost. 

Her phone dings again, and this time, it’s a name she actually doesn’t mind seeing. 

**9:10 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

I spoke with Sae-san. 

 

At this point, Makoto can’t even find it within herself to be anxious. She’s just too tired to muster up much of any energy. Sighing and sinking further against her pillows, she types up a reply. 

 

**9:12 PM**

**To: True Queen:**

Oh? What’d she have to say?   


**9:15 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

Enough. Something about a girl you spent the night with?   
  


Makoto rolls her eyes, before she mentally checks herself. Sure, Hifumi couldn’t see her here, but letting things go quickly leads to forming habits, and the last thing she needs is to burn herself into more grudge lists. 

Still, she can’t exactly be honest. Hifumi is connected, knows her well enough, and is good at keeping her lips sealed, but she also interacts with so many people on a nightly basis that even one small slip could result in everything falling apart.

**9:19 PM**

**To: True Queen:**

It’s… Complicated. 

**9:24 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

I’m sure it is. 

**9:25 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

Forget about tomorrow. I’ll call you when I need you. 

**9:26 PM**

**To: True Queen:**

You know I’ll answer. And you know what this is. 

**9:35 PM**

**From: True Queen:**

Of course I do. Why would I expect anything different now? 

 

Makoto can’t answer that, but she can at least suspect how Hifumi is thinking. Even though she’s always seemed uninterested in the monogamous aspect of relationships, it’s probably only natural to get upset at hearing of Makoto’s… activities second-hand. Without being able to tell the truth, what can Makoto do but play along? 

It’s not like it’s anything new for the two of them, anyway. 

She types a quick response, something comforting but not quite an apology, and locks her phone.

Tomorrow is another day. It can’t be much longer than this one was. 

* * *


End file.
